Saudade
by runzel-stirn
Summary: David Read is struggling with his place as a husband and father. After meeting his son's teacher, he begins to gain more perspective-at the expense of falling hopelessly in love.
1. Domesticated

Chapter One: Domesticated

David Read kissed his sleeping wife before going downstairs to make breakfast. Normally, Jane was up before him, singing as she ground coffee beans and opened the kitchen blinds. Lately, however, he found himself unable to sleep past 5:30. It was an unwelcome change from their routine.

He looked at the old plastic clock that hung above the sink and sank down into a chair. The sun hadn't risen yet-the days were getting shorter and winter was creeping around the corner. His children had just settled into the groove of school assignments. Soon, the snow would be falling and he would begin shoveling out the driveway, making cocoa on the weekends, and wheedling his family into trying exotic hot dishes cooked in the garage, which served as his makeshift kitchen. It all seemed so _predictable_.

His robe fell open and exposed a pale chest. He felt his hand wander over his stomach, which was beginning to swell-an unfortunate side effect of getting older. His mother was already making jokes about turning forty, but Jane hadn't yet teased him about it. He supposed that was a good thing since his two children, an active preschooler and a well-meaning third-grader, had already made him painfully aware that he was losing his youth. He tried to convince himself that he was gaining weight because he was a chef, all chefs gained weight, they _had_ to, no one trusted a skinny chef… but he knew that wasn't the real reason. The truth probably tied in with getting up earlier and watching the sun rise. He was a family man now, and his life belonged to his wife and kids.

The hallway light turned on and cast a thin glow underneath the swinging door to the kitchen. David was dimly aware that he hadn't yet turned a light on and stood up just as the door squeaked open. As Jane flipped the light switch, she nearly squealed as she saw her husband. One hand flew to clutch her robe closed, the other grabbed the sash snugly tied around her waist.

"Dave, you _scared _me!" Embarrassed, she hurried over to the coffee maker to wash out yesterday's remnants.

"Sorry, dear." He remained standing next to the table, unsure whether to laugh it off. "I didn't think you would be up yet."

"You could have turned on a light, at least," Jane replied tartly, drying the glass coffee pot without looking at him. For a brief moment, he wondered if she even knew that he had kissed her this morning. "And close your robe, don't let the kids see you in your boxers."

He looked down and halfheartedly complied. When she heard no response, the bite went out of her tone. "It should be another cold day. I'm sure we could all use some more of your minestrone for dinner tonight."

"D.W. doesn't like it, remember?" His hands found her lunchbox and dropped in a pudding pack. His daughter eschewed most of his cooking ideas in favor of what the family called The Three C's: Candy, chocolate, and cake. He had nearly pulled his hair out at trying to think of ways to make her eat healthy. "Maybe if I tell her 'minestrone' is Italian for 'soup-cookie.'"

Jane giggled a little as she turned the machine on. "You'll have some time to think about it. The kids won't be eating until after their parent-teacher conferences tonight, anyway."

David groaned. "Already? It's only October! Their teachers barely know them."

"November's next week," Jane said gently. "And _we_ barely know their teachers."

"That's not true," he countered. "I see D.W.'s teacher all the time. She and Mom play bingo together. And I'm sure I waved at Mr. Ropeburn at the PTA meeting last month."

"Ratburn, Dave."

"Whatever. I overhear enough about him from Arthur and Buster when they come home from school loaded with homework every day." He remembered his son grumbling about it to his friend as their books lay splayed out on the table. _Mr. Ratburn wants us to read _how many _pages? That guy's crazy!_

Jane began spreading peanut butter on a sandwich. "Then it would be good for you to talk with him. Try to understand his teaching methods. I'll meet with D.W.'s teacher at the preschool. And Dave," she added slyly, "When we get back, we can unwind together."

It was a phrase that usually brought him excitement. Today, it was like she said it in a different language and he was comforted by his closed robe-not because of its ability to hide an erection, but because it camouflaged the fact that he didn't have one. "Sounds great."


	2. Harmless

Chapter Two: Harmless

"-and Dad, here's where my locker is, right between Buster and the Brain, and here's the case with the pictures of our dream schools that we did for that architecture firm, and here are the haikus we wrote and-"

"Um. Uh huh. That's great." David chimed in when his son paused long enough to catch a breath. He was about to ask where the classroom was when he saw Buster and his mother Tilly Baxter exiting down the hall. Arthur immediately found his friend and walked over to say hello. A tall rat in a brown jacket and slacks waved goodbye. "Thanks for seeing me, Ms. Baxter."

"The pleasure was mine!" she replied in the high-pitched voice that was so characteristically grating to David's ears. "I'm just _so_ glad I was finally able to meet you, Buster talks about you _all_ the time and it's simply _wonderful_ to put a name to a face-"

"Mom, let's _go,"_ Buster whispered as he snuck Arthur an exasperated look. "I want to show you the sculptures Arthur and I did in art class."

"Don't show her those yet!" Arthur blustered. "We have to show her together, otherwise you won't get the story right!"

"I will too!" Buster retorted, to Tilly's chagrin. "…but just in case, maybe we should wait."

"That won't be necessary," their teacher interrupted, clearly not wanting any more delays in the scheduling. "Arthur, it's not necessary for you to be here for my conversation with..."

He finally looked over at David, who swore his eyes moved up and down. "…your father."

He extended a hand. David shook it. "David Read."

The teacher's hand was warm and dry. "Nigel Ratburn, Mr. Read." David broke the handshake first, an action that he always felt awkward about.

A beat passed. The silence was finally broken by Buster, who was pulling his mother toward the art room. Arthur waved to his father and nearly tripped turning around to catch up. David would have preferred to have the company of his son-in his experience, children helped to moderate and formalize conversations, keeping them brief. Now, there was more of a risk that this Mr. Ratburn would say things off the cuff and he didn't know him well enough to reciprocate.

"Shall we, Mr. Read?" The teacher motioned him inside the room. He saw Mr. Ratburn stroll over to the old boxy desk, chipped and scratched with years of use. David stepped inside and looked around the room. The more noticeable nicks on the desk had been patched, sanded, and lacquered. Two seats were positioned at the other side of the desk. The blackboard behind it was immaculate and a glossy laminated alphabet hung above in long sheets. The desks had been arranged in groups of four, rather than facing Mr. Ratburn's desk. The aluminum blinds were drawn on the windows. Overall, David had the feeling that the room served a specific purpose and didn't often deter from it.

He heard a voice from his right. "Arthur's told me you're a caterer, Mr. Read. Working with so many different people must make you very intuitive." It felt like half-compliment, half-inquiry.

"David, please," he replied automatically, then wished he hadn't.

"David. Have a seat."

_Let's get this over with,_ he moaned internally, resting in the green plastic chair with no armrests and a wire frame. The blue chair next to it was likely intended for an accompanying child.

Mr. Ratburn opened one of the metal drawers in his desk, deftly rifled through a few folders, then grabbed one with a yellow label. _Read, Arthur._ He set it on the desk, closed the drawer, and opened the manilla folder. "Arthur's a great student, David. He shows a strong desire to learn, especially science. It's a skill that's close to my own heart as well."

David watched him flip through papers, essays, quizzes. Arthur really was a good student. When was the last time he asked him about school? Had he known that his son liked science? Did Jane know?

"He has a healthy imagination and I have no complaints about his social skills. Overall, I'd say that your son is a pleasure to teach." His brow creased suddenly. "I have noticed one thing."

David's ears immediately perked up. "What's that?"

Mr. Ratburn hesitated, but only momentarily. "He doesn't seem to have a strong connection with you." Before David could respond, he quickly explained. "What I mean is, when he talks about his family, he refers to his sister and mother. Francine-she's one of his classmates-once asked him who helped him with his math and he said it was usually your wife. I've been trying to glean a little more information about his home life. I know that sounds nosy, but this is my _job_ and it includes gauging which students have a well-rounded relationship with their parents and which students-"

"-are struggling?" David interrupted, irked. "There is nothing wrong with my relationship with Arthur, and I don't think I like your implication."

Mr. Ratburn laced his fingers together. "Please don't get hostile, David. I'm only trying to help your son. He's a bright young man. I've been teaching for a while and I've seen students with little parental involvement. There are lots of different factors-parents who are overworked, or struggling financially, or are simply unaware of how much time they need to spend with their children. Do any of these sound like you?"

He shook his head vehemently. "Of course I work a lot. I have three kids to feed, clothe, support extracurriculars. One day my daughter wants to be a gymnast, the next she wants to ride horses. My youngest is a baby, she has medical bills. Arthur plays soccer." Mr. Ratburn was nodding along. "These things cost _money_, and I can't work from home like my wife can."

"I'm not saying that you aren't looking at your son's best interests. You sound like a great father," Mr. Ratburn said in a soothing voice. "Just let me ask you this: When was the last time you took your baby to the doctor, or rode a horse with your daughter, or watched one of Arthur's soccer games?"

David opened his mouth, then closed it. He thought back to that morning, sitting in a chair with his robe open, looking down at a swelling stomach and wondering if this life was what he had worked so hard to achieve. He never regretted becoming a father. He just didn't know that he would need to exchange so much for it.

Warm fingertips brushed his forearm, a welcoming gesture that surprised him. He looked up into the weary face of a man who had seen his fair share of parents as well as students. Parents who probably swore and screamed at the audacity of a man who spent more time with their kids than they did. Parents who had never taught a class, or worked in the public sector, parents who willingly gave their children over to a strange environment for twelve years, who trusted the system until it held a mirror up to them. He could not be angry at this man, who smiled into his face and spoke in a low voice sweetened with academia.

"Take my words with a grain of salt, David. I don't have children of my own. I'm happy teaching, and I hope to do it for a long time. But I'm still learning too. I suppose we teachers need to decide how much empathy we want to have for our work. The more we connect with our students, the more it hurts when we send them off at the end of the year and they forget all about us."

"I can relate to that," David heard himself saying. "Parents need to be selfless."

"So do teachers," Mr. Ratburn added wryly, sliding his hand back towards the manilla folder. "But that just makes the selfish moments more memorable."

He looked at his watch. "I appreciate your taking the time to see me, David. You're a patient man and you love your son. I can't think of a better combination for a parent."

* * *

"Let's try something different tonight," Jane said, pulling her sweater over her head. David suppressed a groan of exasperation. Since baby Kate was born, he had little to no sex drive, and he was hoping that his wife felt the same. Lately, it seemed the opposite. It was as if she sensed his lack of interest and tried to compensate.

"What were you thinking?" He unbuckled his belt and pulled his trousers down, folding them before dropping them into the bottom of the hamper. It was a habit of his mother's that he still couldn't shake.

Jane sidled up to him, slid a hand onto his cheek, and placed her lips gingerly next to his ear. "I want you behind me." Her grin was wicked.

He wasn't sure what his expression was, but she suddenly shrugged her shoulders. "Or not, I guess it doesn't really matter. But I'd really like to break up our routine."

"I didn't know you considered sex a routine," he stalled.

"Sometimes it feels that way with you. Especially lately. Half the time, you're not even thinking about us."

"What!?" he sputtered. "Of course I am! If anything, I'm tired and need to get up early. If my mind is elsewhere, it's accidental."

"Is it that?" Jane needled. "Or do you need something that can hold your attention?"

She sat on the bed and stretched out, her fingers clutching the sheets and making them pucker. He went to her, stood over her. Her grin was still playful. He felt his face contort and he suddenly lunged for her waist. She emitted a shriek as he twisted her over on her stomach in one practiced flip. His normally-subdued demeanor was replaced by a personality that he didn't recognize. Maybe it came from looking into his wife's face and seeing nothing but a woman who lived with him, ate his meals, bore and raised his children. A woman who was practically a stranger with her own direction in life. Maybe it synched up with his at one point, but now they were hurtling away from each other.

He yanked her panties down and grabbed her hips, moving them towards his torso with one hand as he pulled his boxers down with the other. Her skin was soft and supple, but it occurred to him that he didn't _want_ soft and supple. He wanted hard muscles hidden under taut skin. He wanted his own hips grabbed by experienced fingers. _Fingertips, warm and dry._

He was frightened by the surfacing thought and pushed it back down as he slid his hard cock into his wife. He thought he heard her moan, but he was a thousand miles away, consumed with recurring images of those laced fingers. He thrust faster, grasping her hips, buttocks grinding against him. He gritted his teeth. _This is me being selfish. This is what I want._

The thought rocketed him over the edge and he tensed up. The orgasm bore down on him like a wave, his eyes squeezed shut, and as every nerve between his stomach and his knees seemed to explode, a thought pulsed through his mind, chanting in time with his beating heart:

_those eyes those brown eyes weary brown eyes_


	3. Lured

Chapter Three: Lured

_A hand runs over my stomach, a hand that I don't recognize as my own. I would be disgusted by such a lewd act, especially involving a distended torso like mine. A low groan tears from my throat, cracking halfway through. The hand, rather than recoiling, delights in this action and tweaks one of my nipples in response. I gasp at the shock, blindly trying to grab at the naughty digits. Something is happening to my genitals. Sometime warm… wet… a tongue..?-_

BZZZT

David heard only the alarm, like a siren piercing his eardrum. It hadn't woken him in weeks and he'd nearly forgotten the sound. He fumbled to turn it off and seek comfort in the warm sheets. Jane's side of the bed was already cold.

_I slept through the night, _he thought, a trickle of cheerful optimism slowly filling him up. _But why? Because I had sex with my wife?_

The optimism froze to ice and his sheets couldn't control his shiver. Physically, he'd had sex with his wife. But in his thoughts, his desires, and every repressed muscle in his body that sang so sweetly as he climaxed, someone else was to thank.

_no no no no-_

The door opened a crack and a familiar face, framed with curly hair, peered into the room with a smile. "Good morning, dear." She stepped in, her full figure concealed by an offwhite cotton towel. "Sleep well?"

Without waiting for an answer, she leaned against the doorframe and the towel that wrapped artfully around her body slid down a little. "The kids have gone to school. Maybe you could repeat your performance last night."

He gulped audibly. Whatever had sparked his behavior the night before was long gone, evaporating from his body like the liquor he used in certain luscious desserts. "I don't know Jane, I'm still worn out… I don't think I'm up for it, so to speak."

A shadow of irritation crossed her face, but left fleetingly. She sashayed over to him, knees brushing against each other as she glided over the old carpet. "Then let me take control." The towel crumpled to the floor.

Looking at her body in the full, harsh light of the morning, David was struck by how much it had changed. He expected her to have aged-he himself wasn't the fit and trim husband from ten years ago-but didn't think that her body would look so different. Her breasts sagged, her stomach puckered with stretch marks from multiple pregnancies, and her complexion was dotted with new freckles. He pulled the sheets down and gently swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing up with more effort than usual, as if a great weight was attempting to push him back down.

They looked at each other's naked bodies, twenty-four inches apart. His flaccid penis was aligned with her public hair, peppered with grey.

"Jane…" he sighed, unable to find anything else to say.

She gave him a cold stare, a change that was akin to flinging a pot of boiling water outside on a frigid January morning. Without a word, she yanked the towel off the ground and stormed out, a rebuffed wife.

David quietly stepped into navy pants and pulled a sweater over his head. He would need to explain his behavior eventually, if he was ever able to think of an explanation. Too many tiny excuses-exhaustion, stress, lack of foreplay. No build up. No seduction. He thought that after so many years, they'd be past that phase of their marriage. He crept down the hall, away from the closed bathroom door, down the stairs and out to the garage. The house suddenly felt very stifling.

* * *

The next couple of weeks passed with minor awkwardness. It was difficult for David to look his wife in the eyes and the only words they exchanged were brief confirmations about their children. At the dinner table, Arthur and D.W. supplied most of the conversation. David liked it that way, though he always felt a little ripple zigzag up his spine when Arthur mentioned his teacher. His heart would pound in his chest and he would open his mouth to change the conversation, but something would cause him to immediately close it. It was conversation that he didn't want to stifle.

One Tuesday dinner, Arthur surprised him by directly addressing him with a request. "Dad, can you make a dessert for my class? For Friday?"

"You really want me to? You were always so ashamed of my cooking." He said it lightheartedly, intending it as a joke. Arthur shrugged.

"I know you'll make something good."

David was delighted. "What kind of dessert do you have in mind, son?"

"Buster's mom is making cookies, Francine is bringing brownies, the Brain said he wanted to make cupcakes with his mom's frosting… so probably a cake?"

"A cake, huh? I think I could do that. What's the occasion?"

"It's Mr. Ratburn's birthday and we know he has a huge sweet tooth. We thought we would surprise him with some desserts."

"That's a nice thing to do for your teacher," Jane chimed in. "I thought you didn't like him."

"No way! Well, he gives us a lot of homework and tests. But he's fair and we're probably the smartest third grade class in the state."

"Yeah, but you're bringing down the curve," D.W. smiled, reaching for her milk. Jane shot her a warning look.

_Make a dessert for Mr. Ratburn, _David thought. _So many possibilities for a cake._

He would be forced to think of his client for the next three days. Every step in baking would make him re-evaluate his strategy, like a game of chess he was playing with himself.

He found this thought even more fortuitous than the request.


	4. A Trap is Discovered

Chapter Four: A Trap is Discovered

The cake turned out to be quite pretty, with chocolate ganache frosting dripping down a soft, moist vanilla base. Thin swirls of homemade raspberry jelly whipped around the interior, over and under the layer of dark chocolate that was nestled inside. Three plump raspberries were an added garnish, decorated fittingly with a chocolate shaving.

As soon as Arthur looked at it, he groaned. "Dad, no one is going to want to eat this."

"Why not?" David asked, alarmed.

His son's face twisted as he fought for the right words. Although D.W. was unabashedly straightforward when it came to her father's cuisine, Arthur tried to have more discretion. "It's too… _nice-looking._"

David grinned. "You know, I'll take that as a compliment." He gently set the cake in a custom round carrier before handing it to his son. "Remember, if it sits out too long, the ganache will soak into the cake and it'll get soggy."

"I _know_, Dad." Arthur offered him a quick hug before heading out.

He smiled and looked out the window as his son waved Buster over, carrying his own dessert, and they turned the corner. Arthur's hug was still on him, albeit the hug of an adolescent boy fast outgrowing displays of affection. He wondered mildly, in a surreal pastry metaphor: If the effort behind the cake were divided into three slices, how large of a piece would belong to Arthur? or David? or Mr. Ratburn?

"That really was a nice-looking cake," his wife said behind him.

He turned around to face her. Her face was unreadable. "Thanks."

A pause.

She nodded and started to head back to the living room. Her name caught in his throat and he spent the rest of the morning making dour deliveries.

The family sedan rolled into the pick-up area of Elwood Elementary. David shifted into park, then waited quietly for Arthur to walk outside. He lazily looked around, recognizing a few familiar faces as his son's friends and unsure of whether to wave to them or not. It was a protocol with which he was hopelessly unfamiliar.

Until one person waved to him first.

And started walking over to his car.

_shitshitshitshit-_

"I don't normally do this, but I had to stop by. The cake was delicious," the man said with a broad smile. "Honestly, I'm honored that you had time to fit this into your schedule."

David's mind spun with interpretations. What did "this" refer to? Picking up his son? Making a cake for non-monetary reasons? Or something else?

"It was nothing, really. I'm glad it turned out." David began craning his neck looking for his son. "Arthur… _was_ in class today, right?"

Mr. Ratburn laughed. "Yes, he was. But I already saw him get into Buster's mother's car."

David groaned and slumped in his seat. He'd already been driving all day and the mile or so home seemed both incredibly distant and far too close. "That kid… I must have taught him how to communicate."

"Don't sell yourself short. You're _here_, aren't you?" Mr. Ratburn glanced at the brown leather watch around his wrist, then looked at David's face, strained muscles under tiny wrinkles and dark eyes. He hesitated.

David was reminded of the parent-teacher conference where he had done this before saying something off-the-cuff. "Want to grab a drink?"

The answer was almost immediate. "Yes."

They sat across from each other fifteen minutes later. David tried not to think about how their positions paralleled the parent-teacher conference-staring over a wooden table at his son's teacher. They didn't say much until their drinks were brought. David ordered a dark beer, his guest asked for a glass of red wine.

The first sip was heaven. David exhaled and relaxed a little.

"So," Mr. Ratburn said, absently running the stem of his glass between his first two fingers, "I take it you weren't in a hurry to get home."

David shook his head slowly.

"Do you think your wife might worry?"

Another shake. "Jane and I don't talk a lot anymore. Look, Mr. Ratburn-"

"Call me Nigel. The surname isn't necessary."

"Okay… _Nigel._ I appreciate you having a drink with me. I know that it was impromptu. It's been a long week."

Nigel gripped the bowl of his wineglass and brought it to his lips. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. …_yes._" He paused. "Do you ever feel old?"

"I teach ten year olds how to read chapter books and write cursive. Of _course_ I feel old," Nigel laughed. "Or do you mean when the children are gone?"

"Something like that, yeah."

In the same quiet voice that rebuked and comforted at the conference, Nigel said: "Every day. I used to think that my kids were getting more energetic, harder to keep in line. I'd had a few conversations with the principal about it, mostly talk about disciplinary methods that dissolved into a tangent about 'kids these days.' But I finally realized, _I _had changed. It's a tough pill to swallow because it doesn't happen all at once." He swirled his glass a little. "It's funny, you know. Teaching children who always seem to be the same age, it tricks me into thinking that I'm not aging either."

"Have you always taught third graders?"

"I had a few internships in college, one with kindergarteners, another with high school students."

"What made you end up in the elementary school?"

Nigel was silent for a moment. "The children at that age are so cognitive. They're dependent in the sense that they rely heavily on their parents and guardians for most things, including schedule and structure. But they have a certain sense of freedom in that security. Their minds are still developing. They need guidance without being smothered. That's the best way I can teach them."

David finished his beer and ordered another. Nigel followed suit. An hour later, they were laughing.

"-so Arthur walks in right as I'm mid-pour, nails falling out of the box, and his mouth becomes this big O! Meanwhile, I'm looking at the weirdest bowl of cereal I've ever seen, look back at him, and he just bolts! Bolts out of the room!"

Between peals of laughter, Nigel managed to gasp, "Did he tell you why he did it?"

"This is the best part-he says it's his teacher's breakfast."

Both broke into fresh laughter as David's phone lit up. He looked at the screen: _where r u?_

The laughter died in his throat. Nigel composed himself. "Your wife?"

David nodded and began to text back. _saw an old friend, am having drinks. _He thought a little more. _don't know when i'll be home._ His fingers felt too fat for the keypad.

He became more aware that he was beyond tipsy and was in no condition to drive. It was certainly a ticklish development and it dawned on both of them at the same time. Their eyes met and a silent decision was made, though neither of them may have been fully aware of it at the time.

"My house is a few blocks away from here," Nigel began, in a voice that held no slur. The bill for the drinks was in front of him-how long had it been there? when did it come? "Why don't we sober up there before you head home?"

David stood, a little shaky. His head felt heavy, but his body was light. A warm wave of grateful affection rushed over him and he turned to look at Nigel, who was now tucking his wallet into his rear pants pocket. _Lucky pocket._

"I'm sorry?" Nigel asked, bemused.

_Did I say that out loud?_ "Lead the way," David gestured.


	5. Reaching for the Bait

Author's Note: Thank you everyone for the kind comments! I hope that in the process of reading this chapter, your childhoods aren't sabotaged.

* * *

Chapter Five: Reaching for the Bait

David Read had no idea of what he expected Nigel's house to look like as he stepped into the foyer. The walls were painted beige with dark molding, which matched the wooden furniture. A few well-chosen paintings hung on the wall in the living room, over clean suede furniture. David saw no scattered blocks, no board games or papers (or walls) scrawled with crayon. The kitchen was tidy, with stainless steel appliances. No chips, no nicks, no scratches. _A home without children,_ he thought.

"Have a seat." Nigel motioned to the couch. He retrieved a glass of ice water from the kitchen and set it on the coffee table, over a coaster. Even in his haze, David was impressed by the intricate carvings on the legs and sides.

"Where did you find this table?"

"I made it."

"No shit!" David sputtered. "It's beautiful!"

Nigel smiled. "Thanks. Actually, I made most of the furniture here. The high school has a great STEM program that includes a state of the art woodshop."

"STEM?"

"Science, Technology, Engineering, Mathematics. Helps prepare kids for more relevant careers than what was expected fifty years ago."

David clumsily ran a hand through his hair. "I guess school's changed a lot since I went."

"Not really. I could talk about my frustration at the lack of classroom development all night. Though you'd probably be ready to strangle me."

"No—no. I like it."

Nigel looked at him skeptically.

"I mean, my wife and I don't stray far from the kids' activities, finances, all that junk." Without a sober filter, the words freely slipped from his mouth. "There's no debate, no stimulation. Nothing new to discover except ways to say 'no.' With you, I can…" He trailed off, helpless. This seemed less like a men's camaraderie and more like a first date.

He was being watched intently. Nigel rested his elbow on the arm of the couch. David recognized his expression from his experience with Jane. It was the look of smothered desire.

"You can..?" Nigel asked, almost inaudibly.

David had to look away from him to respond. "I can feel more sated."

He reached to lift the glass of water and felt a hand on his wrist. It rested gently, the fingertips wandering up to his knuckles. His hand was slowly turned over so the palm faced up. A thumb traced over the grooves. At the sensation, David began sweating. Nigel's touch lingered on the path it took like tiny pinpricks. Soon, his hand was slick. Embarrassed, he tried to slip it out of Nigel's grasp.

Reactively, his grip tightened and he deftly interlaced his fingers with David's in one fluid motion. David immediately felt Nigel's own warm sweat and hesitantly met his wordless gaze. It was steady, without tension or uncertainty. The memory of their first meeting at the conference washed over David like a wave. That same expression-the weary brown eyes.

Those last three words ignited the intensity that had built in the last few minutes. With strength that seemed fleeting, David used Nigel's grip to pull him down on the couch, covering the man's lips with his own. He felt a hand wander through his hair, then clutch it tightly. His mouth parted, his lips shifted over Nigel's, his tongue danced and darted. When the kiss broke, he felt like he'd run a mile. All of his strength left him and he slumped against a warm hard body, breathing hard.

The hand that had grabbed his hair was now stroking it. Beneath his ear, David heard a thudding heartbeat. Several seconds passed. Their hands were still interlocked, and each heartbeat seemed to pulse between their palms. Finally, David said: "Was that… okay?"

His head rose and fell as Nigel laughed. This was more than his characteristic chuckle, it was rich and deep. Any fear or tension David felt evaporated and he smiled into Nigel's chest.

Gently, Nigel unlaced his fingers and covered David's cheeks with his hands, nudging him up to eye level before kissing him again. It was more tender than the first, but the effect was profound. The pulsing that had begun in their hands now moved to David's abdomen… and lower. He took a ragged breath and looked down at his pants. He was visibly excited. _And me without my bathrobe,_ he thought crazily.

He felt his shirt being unbuttoned. One, two, three. After the fourth, a brown hand slipped inside, wandering over his chest and around his ribs. The second hand finished unbuttoning his shirt before joining the first. David groaned and managed to gasp, "I have to tell you something."

"Hmm?" Two sets of fingers ran down peaky nipples.

"I've never—I mean, this is my first—" Why did he feel like he was confessing some sort of virginity? "This isn't a dance I'm familiar with."

Nigel laughed again. "And you don't know if you should lead or not?"

David nodded sheepishly.

"It's up to you, really." He assumed his air of academia that David now found beguiling. "You'll find it's a little easier to stop thinking of it as a 'top-slash-bottom' situation and start with your comfort zone."

David sat up. "I'm making out with my son's male teacher. I think I've left the orbit of my comfort zone."

Nigel broke into another peal of laughter. "My _god_, David. You are too much."

"Oh yeah?" he replied in mock fury, grabbing Nigel's sweater and yanking it over his head. His chest was smooth and the light from the hallway glowed softly on his skin. David stared openly as the reality of his situation began washing over him. What part did he find more shocking: That he was cheating on his wife, or that he was doing it with a man? He had never considered himself bisexual before, never looked at men with any kind of desire—

"Either my chest is mesmerizing, or you're thinking too much," Nigel said.

"I'm just used to seeing something else when I take a person's shirt off," David replied.

Nigel gave him the same bemused expression as he had when they left the bar. "Then I should prepare you for what you'll see if you get to my pants."

"I… hadn't thought of that."

Nigel wiggled underneath him and propped himself up on his elbows. "What exactly are you afraid of, David?"

"Oh boy," he exhaled. "How much time do you have?"

"As much as you need. The alcohol's wearing off, after all. I'd expect you to have some second thoughts-"

"It's not that," David interjected quickly. "I want to. I _really _want to. I'm just… nervous."

Nigel paused, then sat up, David still in his lap. One arm went around David, the other held the couch. Slowly, he leaned him back and rested him on the soft cushions and pillows. Once he saw him complying, Nigel began kissing his chest, running his hands down his ribs again. They reached for the top button on his jeans, undone in a practiced twist. David leaned his head back, breathing deeply. He felt his jeans unzipped, then slid down his legs and discarded. Air passed over his exposed genitals, which had previously been seen only by himself and his wife for the last decade. Nigel grasped his shaft, warm and hard.

"David. Do you want me to stop?"

His answer was immediate. "N-no. Don't stop."

Nigel began moving his practiced hand up and down, unzipping his own pants as he did so. He let go for a moment to step out of them, then stood up, naked. David sat up and slid his legs over the front of the cushions. Both nude, they assessed each other.

Fingers trembling, David reached out to grab Nigel's erect penis. He guided him closer, one hand groping for his buttocks. After a breath, he ran his tongue lightly up the shaft and over the smooth head, then took him in his mouth. A moan tore from Nigel's throat and his hands automatically clutched David's hair.

_There's so much of him, _David thought as he sucked his member, tasting preseminal fluid. _I don't know how I can fit it inside me—_

He began stroking Nigel's testicles, holding them gently. Nigel's breath started to hitch and he pulled David's head away from his cock.

"All right," he gasped. "Before we go further…how much further are you comfortable going?"

"I don't know," David admitted. "Will it—does it—"

"—hurt?" Nigel finished. "It might. It will definitely be uncomfortable at first, if you're on the receiving end." He sat next to him and guided him to stand. "Let me try something, if you're hesitant."

His lips wrapped around David's penis and his knees almost buckled. Anxiety washed away and bliss enveloped him like a thick blanket. _Oh Nigel. Oh Nigel! _

He felt a finger inserted in his anus. It probed him and as it massaged his prostate, his mind exploded into fireworks, he cried out unexpectedly, and ejaculated into Nigel's mouth, his body shuddering in quick spurts. His body stumbled to the floor but he barely felt the impact. His partner was over him immediately.

"David! Are you okay?!"

He opened his eyes, the world a fuzzy blur. His arms awkwardly wrapped around Nigel and pulled him down, held him. "'m sorry. 's awesome." His hair blew back from the other man's exhale. Still reeling from the orgasm, legs numb, eyes heavy, he reflected on the events of that day in a haze. The cake, the drinks, the sex. _When I recover, I'll have to wish him a happy birthday. remindmyselfremindmyselfhappybirthday_

He was still uselessly trying to hammer the message in as he drifted to sleep.


	6. Unhinged

Chapter Six: Unhinged

_The dream was fevered and disquieting._

_David Read opened the door to his house in the morning, still disheveled. It was warm and muggy. His mind swam thickly with excuses. _Drank too much, meant to call, didn't want to wake you… _fucked our son's teacher._

_As he waded into the living room, he saw his wife with her hand on the cradle of the wall phone. Her eyes drifted up to him. The heat in the house become unbearable as he recognized her expression. She knew everything. Nigel had told her. Somehow, he knew that she had received the call while he was driving home. His mouth clotted as he tried to form words, anything that would ease the sticky humidity, hazing over the entire room. He stumbled and stuttered as she just kept looking at him placidly. He was overwhelmed by guilt and this heat… this _heat..!

He woke on warm, damp sheets that did not belong to him. His vision, blurry at first, slowly adjusted to a dark figure reaching over him… and gently laying a cool, wet washcloth on his brow. The shock was not unpleasant.

"David. You've been sweating a lot. Are you feeling okay?"

The chill of the cloth spread from his forehead and he relaxed a little. The events of the previous night were coming back to him in disconnected puzzle pieces.

_His hands inside my shirt._

_Our lips pressed together._

_Fingers stroking my skin._

_Tongue sliding, mine first._

_Then his._

The cloth was adjusted, sending a fresh burst of cold through David's body. He followed the light peaking along the bed to double windows in front of the room. The shades were drawn, but the early morning radiance was obvious. "What time is it?" he murmured.

"It's about five o'clock," Nigel answered, still sitting over him.

David groaned. "I was gonna tell you something important, but I think I missed my window."

"Was it 'happy birthday'? You kept mumbling it when I carried you here."

David snorted. "_That's_ a little embarrassing."

"The happy birthday part?"

"The 'carrying your drunken guest' part. Was I saying anything else?"

Hesitation. "…no. You weren't. And for the record, anyone who bakes me a cake and then allows me to give him oral sex should be entitled to a little transportation service."

David smiled, then wrapped his arms around Nigel and pulled his acquiescing body down next to him. His legs instinctively wrapped around his companions, his head settled on his shoulder, and their torsos pressed against each other from nipple to navel. It was an expression of tenderness, thanks, and vulnerability.

He felt a dusky voice whisper into his ear, "You know, I was almost afraid that you would sprint out as soon as you woke up."

David's lips brushed his partner's chest. He removed the cloth from his forehead and tucked his head under Nigel's chin. "I have two favors to ask you."

Almost inaudible. "Yes?"

He took a shuddering breath. "I want to keep seeing you. I don't know where your moral compass points, but mine isn't exactly north anymore. And if you feel the same way, the first favor is this: Don't tell Jane."

A beat. "Are you sober right now?

"I think so-"

"Do you _know_?" He pulled away from David and looked at him.

His face registered confusion. "What, do you want me to say the alphabet backwards and walk in a straight line? Use a breathalyzer? Why are you asking me this?"

Nigel's eyes were maddeningly steady. "Because as much as I want to get involved in a torrid love affair with a married man, I'm not convinced that you've thought this through."

David sat up. He felt light grey sheets puddle around him. His arms lay limply in his lap. "You're right. You're right, I haven't. I don't want to. What if the more I think about it, the more I convince myself that it's a bad idea? What if I just want to avoid that?"

Nigel shook his head slowly. "You'll think about it, David. From the time you leave here and see your wife for the first time, lie next to her in bed, say good morning on Monday and make breakfast and bid your son goodbye as he goes to school, _to my class_… it will _always_ be in your mind. You'll be forced to think about it."

"So, what do you want me to say? You make me happy. What can I do to stay happy?"

A gentle smile suddenly broke onto Nigel's face. "You know how broad and simplistic that question is."

David said nothing.

"I know this is hard for you. I have the luxury of watching you leave and continuing with my day, but you've been saddled with departing this place and going back to a life that you're obviously not satisfied with. _Nothing_ would make me happier than having you come back. But your life will change. Maybe it already has."

He felt a familiar tinge. "Say it again."

"Your life will change?"

"No. What will make you happy?"

Nigel's eyes finally registered the smile on his face. "You coming back."

His voice, though quiet, was hoarse. Every syllable was magnified. "I _want _to come back."

An involuntary erection tented the sheets. David's eyes darted from his lap to Nigel's face. Their eyes met levelly.

"What was the second favor?" The voice registered calm under a smoldering crave.

"Can you… if we do this, would you..?"

Nigel crawled to him from the edge of the bed. His own stiff penis bobbed in time with his stride. Their lips met in a tender kiss, and David felt the covers move slowly away from his lap.

The kiss broke. "Would I what?"

David tried to move his head away, but felt two hands prop it up, forcing him to look into his partner's eyes. In a voice that he hoped would hide most of his shame, he responded haltingly: "Go slow?"

Nigel paused, grinned helplessly, and suddenly grabbed David's knees and swept his body closer, forcing him on his back. His arms flew out above his head as their thighs connected. He saw Nigel open a drawer and grab a bottle, deposit clear gel onto his hands, then rub them along his shaft in a swift, practiced motion. Butterflies leapt in David's stomach and a thought from the previous night needled him-_I could barely fit that in my _mouth, _this won't work-_

A hand wrapped around his cock, still lubricated. "Of course I'll go slow. But I need _you_ to communicate with _me_. I'll stop if it hurts too much. But if you've never experienced it, it will probably hurt at first. Do you still want this?"

David looked at Nigel. Rays of sunlight were dancing behind him, bathing him in an ethereal glow that relaxed him in a way that the alcohol couldn't. He nodded his consent. watched as two hands settled on either side of his hips, and felt something start to push at his entrance, sliding in, and he felt like he was going to tear in half and hitched his breath.

At the sound, Nigel immediately paused, bent to kiss the hollow in David's neck, and waited quietly for him. "I'm in about an inch. Breathe with me."

Inhale, exhale, inhale. With every breath, he pushed a little more, feeling taut muscles loosen. David's arm lay over his eyes and his mouth was an involuntary grimace. His legs jerked a little against Nigel's torso, but pleasure swept over pain and made it more tolerable. This was more than a finger or two, this was a wall that crept closer, that seemed to have no end. Through a crease under his arm, he glimpsed a contorted face and recognized the strain and self control on handsome features.

"Can you-should I-_ah!-_-h-how is it?"

The mutual desire spurred David and he shifted his hips without a word, taking the last two inches or so in one sharp thrust. Both cried out and Nigel's fingers were now digging into the sides of his buttocks, waves of heat crashing over their bodies.

"Faster, faster please faster," David managed. Their bodies moved closer together and his own penis rubbed deliciously against the other man's chest as he plunged in, pulled out, and plunged in. _Inhale, exhale, inhale._ Both actions were becoming quicker. As Nigel's hips, once rhythmic, began bucking and convulsing, David gripped him in his arms, crushing twisted lips with his own, and they cried out in each other's mouths, both feeling like their bodies had swelled and exploded with the sudden nature of two weak balloons invaded by tanks of helium.

Any conversation left unfinished from the early morning continued entirely in their minds.


End file.
